


Something Different

by ctrl_plus_c



Series: Private AU [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Missing Persons, Murder, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Shinguji Korekiyo, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ctrl_plus_c/pseuds/ctrl_plus_c
Summary: Korekiyo has always hated silence. It mocked him, drove him up the walls, begged him for answers to questions never asked. Silence made his thoughts play, and like long-lost lovers they'd dance.The world is his kingdom, except when silence captivated it.
Relationships: Gokuhara Gonta & Shinguji Korekiyo, Shinguji Korekiyo/Shinguji Korekiyo's Sister
Series: Private AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807498
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Something Different

The flicking of a lighter, a small flame appearing from the small object. The flame was small, weak, yet every time it worked as intended. Fulfilling it's purpose of igniting a cigarette, not in flames but with enough power to draw out the effects of the nicotine inside, filling up lungs with poisonous smoke before being expelled to the wind. Toxic smoke that burned the nose and brought the eyes to tears, but despite the pain it gave, it was all worth it. Worth the weight being lifted off one's chest, worth the feeling of blowing away the problems of daily life. 

Shinguji could never feel whole unless his lungs were filled with smoke and his wrists resembled ribbons.

He set the lighter in the palm of it's owner Gokuhara, and the larger put it right back in his pocket. Shinguji had his hospital mask pulled down, not caring if Gokuhara saw his face. It wasn't that special anyways, pale as the rest of his body paired with thin lips scarred from all the biting Shinguji put them through. Gokuhara'd seen it many times before, ever since they were old enough to be in school. The taller boy watched Shinguji take a long drag of his lit cigarette before opening his mouth to speak. "Is it good?" 

Shinguji didn't answer, for a moment. He doubted Gokuhara even wanted one, the other was just making noise to fill in the silence. The question wasn't even a good one either, whatever 'it' was probably wasn't good, as nothing ever was when it came to Shinguji. At best it was 'sub-par' and at worst it was meaningless. He never could tell if Shinguji couldn't give good or bad ratings or if he just wouldn't. The boy was the definition of a silent opinion, but it never bothered Gokuhara. Nothing about the shorter could bother Gokuhara. Shinguji was above him in every way except height and body weight. Shinguji always called him friends but Gokuhara would call him a god, a king, the only person he would ever listen to and the only person who's words mattered. He was everything but perfect, but Gokuhara found him an amalgamation of patience and love and overwhelming kindness, no matter what others thought of him. 

"...Not really." There was the answer, short and simple and not meaning anything much. Simple words spoken between puffs of smoke, and to Shinguji the smoke was more important than the words he spoke, because he knew Gokuhara would be satisfied with anything. He was right, of course, Gokuhara nodded and thought of a different question for him. An interview, Shinguji thought, that's what it felt like. Gokuhara's questions were meaningless in every way, they didn't progress anything, they didn't accomplish anything. Yet he still asked them, and kept asking them, just because Shinguji never told him to stop. 

"Does it hurt?" The burning inside of his lungs was just a sting, something he could handle, nothing he could ever say hurt. Her hands left more of a stinging sensation when they ghosted along his skin, crimson red nails leaving trails of pink in their wake. Miyadera was something sacred, a being that didn't deserve to be contained within a measly human vessel, she was a goddess he would pray to for his own salvation. She was his savior, the definition of divine. He loved her in the way man loved God, worshipped her figure on his knees. He pleaded for her forgiveness before he could ever forgive himself, she was his life, the reason he awoke every morning and the reason for which he was born. 

He couldn't stay blind forever. His sister was only human, and as soon as the mist cleared from his mind her mortality would be her downfall. When Shinguji first opened his mouth, he spoke of his sister in the highest degree. The burning her fingers gave him, the way her heat coiled his insides, everything she did was romanticized. Her divinity was only a mask, a curtain to hide the darkness in her soul. When he began questioning her status, she made sure to put him right back in the dirt, right below her heel where he belonged. The intrusive thoughts, the never ending 'what-if' questions almost drove him mad. Does a god bleed when you bash their brains in with a bat? Will her intestines spill if her stomach was slashed? Could the skin of a divine being even be pierced?

"No." His answer was clearer this time, more sure. Even if the sting was greater, unbearable to his insides, a feeling that made him want to retch and puke. Shinguji would never say he was in pain, because he knew it could be worse. It was the only thing he was confident in, the only thing he knew was true. Nothing he could feel now would hurt more than what he put his sister through. Oh, how the truth destroyed her. Maybe if she'd been a better liar, she wouldn't be rotting in a ditch somewhere. Was it a ditch he'd dropped her in or had he made the effort to dig her corpse a grave? Or did he sneak, under the cover of the night, and dump her down the sewer drain? Shinguji supposed his lack of certainty was what made him harder to find.

Gokuhara nodded and watched smoke rise as it escaped Shinguji, following it's path until it dissipated into the air. The smaller turned his head away from the pale blue sky, looking up at his companion. He wondered why Gokuhara still hung around him, considering he could easily fit in with other people. Even if they've known each other since forever, all friends drifted apart at some point. It was normal, healthy, a part of growing up. Were they just not mature enough to leave, were either of them truly at fault? Maybe Gokuhara's clingy nature was Shinguji's fault, maybe Shinguji had to tell Gokuhara to just move on. Or, maybe, they could just stay kids forever. Who was to tell them who to group with, who to bond with. So, Shinguji asked the question this time.

"Are you ready?" There was no need for specification, Gokuhara knew. Planning to audition for a killing game, their deaths to be broadcasted all over the world. Whatever Team Danganronpa decided to do with them would be their fate. Was Gokuhara ready to die on live television? To give up his past life, to be given a new one? Could anyone really be ready for what Danganronpa held for them, if they were to be accepted? _You could be a doctor. A scholar._ Gokuhara told him once. _Why do you wish so badly to give up your future like this?_ Shinguji never answered him, because truly, he couldn't. He didn't have a future, not one that he was willing to work for. Good grades and access to one of the greatest high schools this country could offer would only get him so far. Even if his sister's murder was ruled a cold case, even if her body still couldn't be found, Shinguji would always be a suspect. Simply for his blood ties to her, the police would always think of him as a suspect. 

Gokuhara didn't dignify him with an answer. He didn't need to, as Shinguji knew what it was. The larger would follow him to hell and back, even if it killed him in the end. When silence filled the air between them, Shinguji was left to ponder. Thinking about the circumstances of his sister's murder wasn't his favorite hobby, but thinking up different ways of how he could have killed her, even as the memory of her dead eyes staring up at him burned itself into the back of his eyelids. It was impossible to forget, but he would try. He would try his damnedest to forget everything about her. Her warmth, her smile, her lips, her eyes, her hair, her love, her body, her corpse. _Her everything._

The marks she'd left on him would never disappear. The slight satisfaction he felt when he bashed her head in, when he brought down a god, definitely would. But it was fine. When he made it into Danganronpa, all of that would be erased. Nothing of what he once was would remain, he would be a slave to the writers to use as they pleased. He didn't care if he was the worst character in Danganronpa history, he didn't care if the audience hated him. He didn't care about the fame, or the money, or the power. As long as he ended up dead, nothing mattered. He might not even die knowing he overcame God, that he ripped her from her thrown and put her where she belonged. But she would. As long as Miyadera knew who killed her, he was fine with dying. 

He had nothing to lose, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an intro to an AU of mine lovingly dubbed the Private AU. Please give feedback I'm open, haha. 
> 
> Maybe I should write more shingujicest- I obviously have a lot to say about them.


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